


Finding Your Legs

by iamavacado



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Confusion, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Talking, Unresolved Tension, post wilford motherloving warfestache, wilford motherloving warfestache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: After Abe realizes he's been chasing Wilford uselessly in a world that doesn't make sense, they both sit outside the disco and talk things out. Abe wants to understand what's happening, but he isn't sure if that's possible.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Finding Your Legs

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that Wilford tries to lead Abe through the world he ended up in. And the grudges that Abe has towards Wilford start to fade when he begins to realize that, really, Wilford is the only thing he has that's close to a friend here.

The night air was chill, and a cool breeze settled over Abe’s shoulders, taking some heat out of his clothes. He was sweaty, having danced until he couldn’t remember which foot went where or was connected to what. An innumerable amount of years of searching for the exact man he was sitting next to, and then finding out he was dead the entire time (or not, he couldn’t tell) would leave a lot of pent up energy. So he danced it out. Wilford was right, unwinding just a bit for the first time in….as long as he could remember made him feel a little better. But he was still human, as far as he could tell. Well, even if he _wasn’t_ , his body still remembered how to sweat. And boy, did dancing produce a lot of _that._

Abe’s jacket laid in a pile next to him, along with his holster and gun. He looked down at it tiredly, then back out into the road. It was empty of cars. So was the parking lot of this club, which was weird considering that there were still a crowd full of people inside when he and Wilford left. It didn’t make sense, but he tried to dismiss it. Lots of things didn’t make sense right now. The music, though as loud as it could be inside, didn’t float out here. So it was quiet. Save for the breeze.

“So,” Abe said, still looking out into the road. There was a building across the street. A restaurant. The flickering sign read _‘Jack’s Jacks’._ He couldn’t tell you, but he thought it might have been a pancake place. All the lights were off, so you couldn't see inside the massive windows that lined the outside. Must have been closed. 

Wilford was sitting next to him, kicking his feet like a kid on a chair that was too big. They were sitting on the edge of the entrance, a couple yards from the door. Their feet hung over the side, since this was the top of the ramp that led inside. Wilford’s pink wig sat in his lap. He was pulling on the hairs one by one. “So.”

Abe didn’t really know what to say. Well, he had a million things he wanted to say, but they all came and went so fast he couldn’t latch onto something long enough to form it into words. He had so many questions, so many thoughts, so many contradictions he wanted to sort out. But he didn’t know if he had any answers for them. 

“Are you okay?” Wilford asked. 

Abe didn’t look at him, and furrowed his brows at the question. That was surprising. In a place where nothing mattered, he figured the least of all would be _feelings._ Not like he understood the rules anyway. Maybe there weren’t any rules. Not like it mattered much, he’d never be able to understand them.

Abe shook his head, and decided to actually try talking. Maybe it would get himself out of his head.

“Am I dead?” he asked. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but it’s what he said anyway. Looking down at his shirt, he noticed that the blood from earlier was gone. There was still a hole in his shirt though. He almost wanted to see if there was a hole under the shirt too, but he didn’t check. Probably for the best. 

Wilford paused, and shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“Would that mean that you’re dead?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

Abe looked over at Wilford, who was still fidgeting with his wig. Still pulling each strand one by one. “Well, if I’m dead, and you’re _not,_ then how am I talking to you?”

“Well, things work weird here. It’s useless trying to make sense of it.” Wilford gave Abe a strange sort of casual look. “I could be dead, you could be dead, we could both be dead, we could both be alive, or something else entirely. You never know with it.”

Abe tilted his head. “It?”

Wilford gestured vaguely out into the road. Not a single car has passed since they’ve been out here. “The...the _it._ That’s just...what it is.”

“The world?”

“Just...it. Where we are. We’re here with it. In it. Next to it. I don’t know. None of it makes sense.” 

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.” Abe let out a long breath. “Is it supposed to make sense?”

Wilford seemed to ponder this for a second. His hands stopped fidgeting, hovering over the wig in his lap. His eyes narrowed in thought, and he looked up, like he was trying to remember something. “It might be. I can’t ever really tell. But yes, it might be supposed to.” There was a pause. “Then again, it might not be supposed to.”

“Is there a way to know?” Abe asked. 

“Best not to try.” 

Abe pursed his lips together. “Why not?” 

Wilford smiled. “You ask a lot of questions.” 

“Hu-well, yeah, I’m kind of new to this, give me a break.” 

“No, no--” Wilford put a hand on Abe’s shoulder-- “It’s okay. Helps me think. Reminds me of me when I was younger. Or, well, not _younger_ per say. I don’t really remember being younger, though I couldn’t even tell you how old I am right _now,_ but it just reminds me of….” Wilford chuckled to himself, hands resting in his lap. “Reminds me of old times.”

Abe went quiet. Old times. How old? He couldn’t say. For all he knew, ‘old times’ meant 10 minutes ago or 100 years ago. How did time even work? He checked his watch--it looked like it was broken. He didn’t worry about it. Despite the fact that it had never failed him before. It was one of those expensive ones. One he could never afford himself. It was actually a present from...from...

“Where’s Damien?” said Abe. It came out as a question, but part of him already knew. 

Wilford set his wig next to him. He looked up at the sky, breathing deep. “I wish I knew.”

“Celene?” 

“I’d give anything to see her again. Though she probably wouldn’t want to see me.” Wilford laughed a weak laugh, and began to stare down into his hands. 

Abe was frowning. “Did you do something to them?”

Wilford grimaced at him. “What? No! I haven’t seen them since--! Well, since, you know. Why would you even ask such a thing?”

“Well, you shot _me_ so I wouldn’t put it too far off your radar.”

“That was an _accident._ I would never hurt Celene.” 

“But you’d hurt Damien?”

“That’s not what I _meant!”_ Wilford picked up his wig and threw it at Abe, who caught it with one hand and tossed it to the side. 

“Okay,” Abe said, “sorry. I just haven’t seen them.” 

“No,” Wilford said, sighing, “Me neither.” 

Abe let the silence hang in the air a little longer this time, taking in a deep breath through his nose, holding it in for a second before letting it out slowly. He could feel it in his lungs, which comforted him a little bit. Even if he _was_ dead, feeling the air go in and out of him made him feel more alive. He looked at Wilford for a long moment, watching for the rise and fall of his chest. Every now and then, it would stop for longer than Abe thought it probably should, and he would think that maybe Wilford wasn’t breathing at all. But then it would rise again, and Abe could hear his breath going in and out. 

Abe wondered. Whatever it was that…Wilford had become--he wondered if Wilford could simply choose to _not_ breathe, not needing air in this...dimension? World? He wondered the same of himself, but was scared to try. He didn’t know what that would mean, and he didn’t know if he would be able to figure it out. 

“What are you thinking about?” asked Wilford eventually. 

Abe hummed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to say what he was thinking about loud. Instead, he said, “Why are you helping me?”

Wilford frowned in a pondering way, turning to look at Abe. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know, helping me understand what’s going on.”

“Well--” Wilford made a noise between a scoff and a chuckle-- “I don’t even understand what’s going on, so I don’t know if I’m helping you, per say.”

"Well, you made me understand that I was…" He looked down at his shirt, where the hole was. "Otherwise I'd have been…still chasing you." 

Wilford looked at Abe. There was a small smile on his face. "Understand. I don't know if I've helped you understand anything. Because I don't understand anything."

"Well, you did something. So…" He started to say 'thank you', but the words didn't come. He didn't _want_ to say thank you, since he's pretty sure that Wilford was the one who put him here in the first place, even if it was an accident. But in the back of his mind, he wasn't even sure if _that_ was true. So instead, he just trailed off. 

"Helped accept maybe," said Wilford, almost mumbling. "That nothing makes sense. And you're my friend, Abe. To me, you are, at least. So of course I would help you." 

Abe didn't know what to say to that. He just put a hand on Wilford's shoulder, and hoped that was enough of a thank you to suffice. Wilford smiled, so he figured it was. 

Was there anything else to say? Abe still had so many questions, but he was getting more and more sure that none of them had answers he could latch on to. Was he in the real world? If he wasn't, when did he leave it? Was he ever in it? If he was, why was no one around him sensing something was off? Did they even perceive him? Was he a ghost? But he was solid, and Wilford could touch him--unless they were both ghosts, but then Abe didn't think Wilford had died at any point. Or, he also didn't fully believe that Wilford was alive either, so maybe it didn't matter. Was he in a different dimension? If so, why did that dimension try so hard to look like the real world? And how the fuck did he not remember anything about a case he'd been pursuing for what he _thought_ were years? 

His mind was swimming so aggressively, his head started to pound. He put his head in his hands and balanced his elbows on his knees.

Wilford glanced over at him, then out into the road. "Haven't found your legs yet, eh?" 

Abe shook his head. 

"Took me a while too. I'm still trying to get there, if I'm being honest." There was a pause. What he said hung in the air with a strange density. "Sometimes it's too much to think about. So best not to think about it." 

Abe rubbed his eyes in slow circles. Don't think about it--that was the opposite of his nature. He was a detective, of course he had to think about it. Right? He looked over at his holster and jacket sitting next to him. The sleeve of his jacket was hanging over the side, almost waving in the breeze. The only moving thing in this seemingly empty world, apparently. 

Abe took a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh. Doing all this thinking _was_ starting to wear on him. Would it hurt to put it off? 

"No, it wouldn't," said Wilford. 

Abe scoffed. "Respectfully asking you to stay out of my head, Will." 

"Eh, sorry." Wilford chuckled, and put his arm across Abe's back for just a reassuring second. 

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to not think about all this for one night. After all, he'd just found out about it a few hours ago. Or days? He couldn't tell. It didn't really matter anyway. 

When Abe looked back up, he could see lights on across the street. _Jack's Jacks_ was apparently in full swing. All of the lights were on, and a flickering neon sign that Abe was pretty sure wasn't there before proudly proclaimed that the best pancakes in the world were housed right inside. there were people in there--some of them he recognized from the club. Had people left, and Abe didn't notice?

They were scattered at tables, and waiters carrying bulging stacks of pancakes were flying out of the kitchen, nearly throwing dishes at excited groups. He could almost hear the clamor of people conversing inside, even though it was across the street. The parking lot was packed with cars, some people coming out, and some going in, as if it had been open all night long. He could've sworn it was closed just moments ago. He wanted to question it. 

But instead, he felt his stomach start growling. 

He looked over at Wilford, who was already looking at him with a mischievous smile. Abe didn't mean to, but he found himself returning it. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked. Wilford nodded. 

"Extremely." 

Abe glanced at his jacket. "I don't have any money."

Wilford waved a dismissive hand and pulled out a stack of bills from his back pocket that definitely had _not_ been there before. "I've got enough pancake money to last a lifetime." 

Abe turned and grabbed his jacket and holster. He tossed Wilford's wig towards him. "Make that two." 

They both stood up. Abe donned his jacket, Wilford, his wig. They looked at each other once more, looked at the restaurant, and started walking.


End file.
